LIGHT and short our Winter's sleeping,
Dreaming still of sunny hours:
In his bosom safely keeping
Germs of beauty, folded flow'rs.
At the touch of Spring awaking,
Faint he smiles, her smile to greet;
Then, his southward pinions shaking
Casts his treasures at her feet.
She, with skilful hands and tender,
Models, paints, combines, renews,
Bids each fibre, slight and slender,
Seek the soil and suck the dews.
From the bulb draws forth the lily,
From its sheath the grassy blade;
Dyes the ripened lillipilly—
Frets the fern leaf in the glade.
Tissues of artistic weaving,
Now she spreads o'er plant and tree,
Endless miracles achieving,
With her cunning chemistry.
Best of all her bright bestowing
Is the fount of Hope and Love,
That o'er human spirits flowing,
Links her joys with those above.